


It's Only A Paper Moon

by flowersforgraves



Series: Boondock Fakes [3]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Fake AH Crew, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2019-10-04 00:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: collection of shorter ficlets, vignettes, &c. set in the BDS-FAHC crossover 'verse. chapters added occasionally even though the fic is marked as complete.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction depicting the GTA V personas of the Achievement Hunters. It is not meant to reflect anything about the real people themselves. Rooster Teeth does not have my permission to use this work in any content.

“Murph,” Connor says, desperate, holding onto his twin’s sleeve. “ _Murph_.”

“What?” Murphy turns back to him, hiding impatience.

“Don’t leave?” Connor asks, sounding sad. Fever always heightens his emotional responses, and Murphy is tired and starting to feel sick himself.

Murphy bites back a sigh. “I need to go get something to eat, Connor, I can’t stay right next to you all day.”

“No,” Connor insists, “I know, just, don’t fall in love with Michael and leave me. Not until I’m better. I want -- want to say goodbye.”

The tension drains out of Murphy’s shoulders, and he sits back down on the bed. “Conn. Is that what’s been eating at you? That you think I’m leavin’ ye?”

Connor nods. “You like him,” he says. “And he likes you, and he makes you happy, and I want you to be happy, but I don’t want you to leave until I’m not like this.” He waves clumsily at the room, the tissues and the painkillers and blankets, taking in his semi-lucid state.

“Shit, Connor,” Murphy says, “I -- fuck, I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving you now, or when you’re feeling better, or ever. We’re twins, Conn, that’s not something I can just _leave_ , even if I wanted to. Which I don’t,” he adds hurriedly. “Remember what you said to me last time I got fucked up like this?”

Connor blinks up at him and says nothing.

“You told me that you would always choose me. No matter what, no matter who, I’m your brother and you won’t leave me. That goes for you too, dumbass. I will _always_ choose you. You’re mine and I’m yours and that’s just how it is, I’m not -- fuck, if you want I’ll never speak to Michael again. You’re it, Connor.” Murphy smooths his brother’s hair back away from his forehead. “I’m not in love with Michael, and I’m sure as hell not going off to marry him or whatever the fuck you’re thinking. You really think I’d do that to ye? Especially while you’re sick?”

“No,” Connor admits. “Sorry.”

“‘s okay,” Murphy says, leaning down to press a brief kiss to Connor’s lips. “I’m not leaving you. Now or ever. I just gotta go make a sandwich, okay? I’ll be back.”

“Aye,” Connor mumbles, already slipping back into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight cw for minor homophobia maybe?

“I didn’t know you were gay,” Jeremy says, eyes wide.

Murphy frowns at him. “Why would you know that?”

“Well, you know, when people make the news, and they’re celebrities, like, you find out things about them.” Jeremy waves his hands vaguely. “You know?”

“We’re not fucking celebrities,” Connor says. He doesn’t want to be too harsh on Jeremy -- after all, he’s their meal ticket with the Fakes, without his say-so they’d have been dead the first night. But that doesn’t mean he gets off just saying shit.

“I mean, you’re not _not_ celebrities,” Jeremy says. “People know you. By name if not by face. But, uh, it just seemed like something people would’ve known about you.”

Murphy nods. “Ah yes, the notorious reputation of Irish Catholics. For… not beating up queers.”

Jeremy flushes. “I just--”

“It’s fine,” Murphy says, cutting him off. “It’s just not something important or that I like to advertise.”

“No one knew?” Jeremy asks, curious now.

“Well, I think Rocco knew,” Connor says with a saucy grin.

“Shut the fuck up, Conn. You’re the one who fucked him.” Murphy’s face is starting to go red.

“Yeah, I might’ve fucked him, but _he_ fucked _you_ ,” Connor reminds him, smug.

Murphy’s cheeks are burning now. “That was one time! ‘Sides, would _you_ have trusted his teeth anywhere near your dick?”

“Point,” Connor acquiesces. “Though his dick anywhere in me is a pretty big no.”

Jeremy’s watching the back-and-forth like it’s a tennis match. He doesn’t dare interrupt them, not only because of his respect for their work, but because they’re finally relaxed enough to talk like this in front of him.

“You did have a lot more sex than I did,” Murphy points out.

“Of course I did,” Connor says. “I’m into girls and you’re not.”

“You had a lot more sex with men than I did,” Murphy clarifies.

Connor grins. “Can I help it if I’m the good-looking one?”

“We’re twins, you bastard,” Murphy says, but there’s no heat behind it.

“We may be twins, but I got Ma’s blonde good looks, and you got --” he gestures at Murphy from head to toe.

The smile fades from Murphy’s face just a tad. “I got what, Connor?” he asks, voice deliberately light.

Connor throws Jeremy a glance. “Blonde never looked good on you,” he says, as close to an apology as he’s going to get with someone else in the room.

“I’ll just go,” Jeremy says. “Gotta -- do the dishes?” His voice rises on the end of the sentence, none too convincingly.


	3. Chapter 3

“Sit, sit,” Geoff says, waving his hand at Connor as he looks for something in his desk drawers.

Connor glances around the room. Geoff’s office is about what he’d expected -- organized chaos like the man himself. There are rolls of blueprints stacked precariously on the one padded chair, books in surprisingly neat piles on the floor, a piece of paper sticking out of a locked safe, papers on his desk several inches high. He gingerly picks up the blueprints and sets them on the floor, to clear a spot on the chair to sit.

Geoff is still fumbling around in his desk. Finally he huffs out a sigh and half-falls into his ragged office chair. “So,” he says, looking at Connor expectantly.

Connor just stares at him. If Geoff wants to play a waiting game, Connor’s going to give him a fucking waiting game.

Geoff sighs again. “Look, buddy, I -- I don’t know what you want. I don’t think I can offer you and your brother a job, no matter how badass your hits were in Boston. You can stay here for a bit, Jeremy’s starry-eyed and Ryan respects you so I trust that, but I don’t know.”

“We’re not here for a job offer,” Connor says, sharp. “Don’t know what gave you that impression, but we’re not fucking begging for your handouts. We don’t need your charity. We might even have to go after your crew someday.”

“Then why are you here?” Geoff asks, and he honestly sounds confused.

It’s Connor’s turn to sigh. “Money is -- tight,” he admits carefully. “If we don’t have to pay to stay in a motel for a night or two, all for the better.”

Geoff nods. “Are you here after a specific person?”

“No,” Connor says. It’s a smooth, easy lie; no matter that Geoff has been open with them and the Fakes have a reputation for having a code, Connor doesn’t trust him farther than he can throw. “We’ll be laying low until we can head back to the east coast.” That much is true, Murphy misses Boston and Connor is still itching to hit New York again.

“Well,” Geoff says, “you’re welcome to stick around here for a couple days. I’ll actually cook tomorrow morning, so if you like pancakes…”

Connor wants to laugh. It’s fucking surreal, having one of the most powerful men in Los Santos offering him pancakes. But he doesn’t, opting instead to stand up and offer Geoff his hand. “Appreciate the offer,” he says. “We’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

Geoff high-fives him instead of shaking his hand. Connor accepts it, thinks, _don’t know why I’m surprised_ , and leaves Geoff’s office without looking back.


	4. Chapter 4

“Don’t fucking try anything,” Connor warns. “We got your bosses here.” He’s got his gun pressed against the woman’s temple, twin to Murphy’s against the man’s.

“Don’t listen to them!” 

Murphy cocks the gun. 

“His fucking gun is empty! His gun is fucking empty!” The man screams.

Murphy trades a glance with Connor and pulls the trigger. The gun goes off, the man dies.

“Oops,” Murphy says to the goons standing along the wall, voice light.

The two of them, with their one remaining hostage, leave the building as quickly and quietly as they can. Connor knocks her out with the butt of his gun, and slumps against the wall. “I really was out of bullets, Murph.”

“Me too,” Murphy says. “Used the last one on that fucker, just gambled they wouldn’t try anything else.”

“Jesus,” Connor says, and laughs shakily. “We just fucking did a job on the strength of our reputation alone.”

“Lord’s name,” Murphy returns automatically. “It’s a bit surreal, isn’t it.”

“A bit.” Connor pushes himself upright.

They carry the woman back to the car to head back to the Fakes’ headquarters. Geoff will do whatever he needs, and then Murphy and Connor will clean up the mess.


	5. Chapter 5

Murphy looks fucking pretty, head bent over a shirt he’s mending. Michael clears his throat, trying to get his attention, but now _oh god he’s looking up through his eyelashes_ and Michael bites his lip hard so he’ll stop smiling. 

“What?” Murphy asks, taking the needle from his mouth like it’s a cigarette. 

“You can just get a new shirt,” Michael says, instead of inviting him to play Smash. “I mean, if it’s bad enough to need stitches, you could just go out and get another one.”

Murphy laughs, hard and sharp. “No, we really can’t,” he says, and stabs the needle viciously into the shirt, far more forceful than necessary. “We don’t have the money you do to fucking throw away.”

Michael leans against the door. “The way Jeremy was talking it sounded like you and your brother could have whatever kind of stuff you wanted. Just walk in and take it, or pay for expensive shit.”

“Jeremy needs to realize that we’re fucking serial killers, not folk heroes,” Murphy says, and there’s a thread of bitterness in it Michael hasn’t heard before. “We aren’t in it for the take. Whatever’s on scene is what we get, and we burned through most of our savings to get across the country.”

Michael nods. He’s quiet for a moment, and then offers, “We didn’t -- when I came to Los Santos looking for work, the Fakes weren’t a big name. The name ‘Geoff Ramsey’ didn’t strike fear into the hearts of anyone. But they built it up fast, you know? A year and a half later anyone who didn’t know the Fakes was either new or stupid. I didn’t join up until they were big. Neither did Ryan, and Jeremy’s still the new guy. But -- Jack talks about it, sometimes. When she’s shitfaced after a job, mostly.”

Murphy doesn’t react, just keeps sewing. But he’s not shutting Michael down, so Michael takes it as permission to continue.

“She told us that she used to go without food so she could get another month’s worth of hormones. And that Geoff took the rap for Gavin’s pickpocketing that one time he got caught, and spent a couple nights in the police station so Gavin wouldn’t have to. And how she and Gavin gave their stakes in the first big job to Geoff so he could get a real permanent place to stay.” Michael fidgets with his watch. “So we -- not all of us are like that. Some of us know what it’s like to not have money for a new shirt.”

“We’re not interested in charity.” Murphy holds up the shirt to the light, admiring his handiwork, before he tears the thread with his teeth and carefully folds it back up. “If you want to do that, there’s a shelter down 5th Street.”

“Yeah,” Michael says. “I didn’t mean to suggest you needed our help or whatever. Just wanted to, you know, make sure you didn’t think I was a hopeless asshole?” His voice rises at the end, more asking than stating. It doesn’t really seem like the right time to ask what kind of games Murphy likes, but he doesn’t really have anything else, so he stays quiet.

Murphy looks at him. “Asshole, yes, hopeless, no,” he admits. 


	6. Chapter 6

“Plans for tonight?” Murphy asks idly, biting his thumbnail while Connor leans against him and Jeremy stares out over the flattened cars nearby. “You Fakes have some post job ritual tradition or something?”

Connor shuts his eyes and rests his head against Murph’s shoulder. “They’re not doing fuckin’ Satan-worship, Murph.” His voice is sharp, but the softness in his face and the smile playing at the corners of his mouth betrays the truth of the joke.

Murphy grins, ruffling his twin’s hair. “You never know, Conn,” he says, matching his tone almost perfectly. He turns to Jeremy, inquiring. “Anyway. Plans?”

Jeremy shrugs, a faint smile on his face. “Nah. I’m probably going to do some sketching. Twitter really liked that one I did of some government buildings as sleeping dragons, so maybe I’ll try that style again.”

“That’s you? Your shit is so fuckin’ cool!” Connor lights up, smiling at Jeremy. “Do you take commissions?”

“Um,” Jeremy says stupidly, because fucking _Connor MacManus_ knows who he is and thinks he’s cool.

Murphy elbows Connor in the ribs. “He means the art,” he says. “Not the --” he gestures vaguely, taking in the destruction around them “-- the, this.”


End file.
